


Cat and Mouse

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Drinking, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Jemma's POV, Kissing, M/M, May's POV, Mischief, POV Leo Fitz, POV Multiple, Public Display of Affection, Secret Relationship, Steve Rogers Feels, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons and Fitz have agreed to keep their relationship a secret.</p><p>Steve and Tony’s relationship is the biggest source of gossip in Avengers Tower since Barton requested a room next to Romanoff’s. </p><p>When Tony agrees to share his plane on the way to a conference, Fitz quickly realizes that keeping his wits about him - and his secret relationship a <i>secret</i> - is going to be a lot more difficult than he’d expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astro_timbre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astro_timbre/gifts).



> Written for astrotimbre, the Fitz to my Skye.
> 
> His basic request/prompt was: _May & Romanoff scheme to separate FitzSimmons & Stony, resulting in Fitz & Tony being walking disasters together, while Simmons & Steve bond._ We brainstormed the whole outline together, so he gets a large amount of the credit (or blame?) for what ends up happening with this crackfest. :-)
> 
> This AU is sort of nebulous - _Age of Ultron_ and anything after it in the MCU doesn't exist, everyone knows Coulson is alive (because of reasons), and there was no Kree monolith of stupidity to interrupt FitzSimmons' first date at the end of season 2. *shrug*

Contrary to popular belief, Melinda May did not actually like mornings. The sun was always too bright and she inevitably woke up with a crick in her neck. Despite all their faults, however, mornings were incredibly useful for avoiding other people. So she often awoke before dawn – thusly avoiding the strongest, early rays of sunlight as long as possible – and began her day not long after much of the world finished theirs. Much of the world, that is, other than Natasha Romanoff. 

Fury’s most trusted spy was no stranger to all-nighters and was said to prefer the dark of night to the light of day, and, as such, May and Romanoff’s daily routines (such as they were) often overlapped. Longtime friends – or, as friendly as either woman ever got with anyone else – they occasionally met for breakfast at one of Romanoff’s many safe houses. (Mostly because the spy had no desire to enter the dismal halls of the Playground, whose walls had been May’s home for the past couple of years. The base felt too much like where she’d grown up, she’d said once, and May never brought up the idea again.)

Dawn had just finished rising, and, as she curled her fingers around her tea mug, May watched Romanoff stir a cube of sugar into her coffee.

“They’re insufferable,” Romanoff said, lips pursing into a thin line at the recollection. “I haven’t stayed overnight at the Tower in weeks because I can’t take it. And I’m running out of different safe houses.”

“You’re just a wuss,” called Barton from her bedroom, and Romanoff threw the door a glare, red hair ripping in the sunlight. 

“Go back to sleep!”

There was the distinct sound of sheets ruffling and then a quiet snore.

“Anyone said something?” May took a sip from her mug, and Romanoff pinned her with a dry look.

“Why do you think Stark’s gotten worse? I pretty sure he’s keeping score of how many people walk in on them making out.” 

“Extra points for the number of clothes already removed?”

“Exactly.”

“You’d think that wouldn’t be Steve’s cup of tea,” May mused.

Romanoff shrugged through a long sip from her own mug. “I think he’s just bored enough to let it go. Hasn’t needed to save a city in over a month, and you know that makes him antsy.”

Giving her a sympathetic nod, May leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse than FitzSimmons these days.” Romanoff raised her mug to indicate that May should elaborate. “They think they’re a secret.”

Romanoff snorted into her coffee. “Seriously?”

“It’s cute, but pathetic.” 

Grabbing a cherry Danish from the counter, Romanoff perched on one of the high kitchen stools, stretching her legs up onto the counter. “Sneaking in and out of bedrooms?”

“Fitz had his shirt on backwards two days in a row. Lip gloss on the collar – in different places – both times.”

“Nice catch.”

“Rookie mistakes,” May tossed back, stealing the Danish before the super spy could take a bite. She was gifted with a death glare that probably would’ve made anyone else piss their pants, but chowed down on the pastry anyway. Just because she’d worked out that morning didn’t mean she didn’t deserve a treat every now and then. Besides, the two of them had an understanding where cherry Danishes were concerned. 

Romanoff let out a low huff, stretched over to grab a different pastry, and settled herself back on the stool. “Why the hell do they think they need to be a secret?”

May shrugged. “I can’t tell if they’re worried about section seventeen or just like sneaking around.”

“Considering my line of work,” Romanoff deadpanned, “gotta say I understand the appeal of sneaking around. But....” She paused and tilted her head, astutely locking onto the more likely reason of the two. “Has anyone told them that section seventeen hasn’t been a thing since Hydra?”

“Phil probably forgot to mention that,” May answered smoothly, suspecting that Coulson had intentionally forgotten to mention it to anyone. The only reason she even knew was that she’d caught him marking up Fury’s SHIELD rule book in red pen (and saw immediately through his attempts to cover it up with a Captain America coloring book). 

“He’s a good man, Coulson,” said Barton, who ambled sleepily in through the bedroom’s doorway. His boxers were as rumpled as his hair, and his reasons for being in the safe house were made abundantly clear by the fact that the boxers were currently his only article of clothing.

Romanoff swallowed another bite and shot him a wry glare. “You’re biased.” 

Pointedly ignoring her, he yawned and half-heartedly waved a hand in their direction. “Hey May.”

“Barton,” she replied by way of greeting, and with that he was through the door of the bathroom. A pleased sigh escaped the crack beneath the closed door a few seconds later, and May couldn’t help but frown in unveiled disgust.

After a few moments, the tapping of Romanoff’s fingers against the counter drew May’s attention. “You know, I might have a way to solve both our problems.” 

May raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna convince Tony Stark to be a considerate human being?” 

The toilet flushed, and then a disembodied voice from the bathroom called out: “She’s not omnipotent!”

“No,” Romanoff replied, a calculating glint in her eye. “I’m gonna get him out of the Tower for at least a day so I can go home – maybe even do some work – without worrying about what room I’m walking into.”

May shrugged, at least somewhat thankful that FitzSimmons hadn’t yet taken to defiling random rooms around the base. “And how does that solve _my_ problem?”

“Tony’s been invited to a prestigious engineering conference –”

“And if we get Fitz an invite –” May said, picking up the thought. 

“Then both sets will be split up –”

“And we can finally have some peace.” The idea was certainly appealing. Even one day without having to studiously pretend not to see them sneaking adoring glances at each other would be a welcome reprieve. “For twenty-four hours, anyway.” 

“Sounds like you’re in,” Romanoff said with a smirk, licking the last of her pastry off her thumb.

Flicking a couple crumbs off her dark wash jeans, May gave it a few more moments of thought. There was a security sweep she’d been itching to do for months, and this way she wouldn’t need to pretend not to notice Simmons’ bathrobe where it currently hung in Fitz’s room. 

“I’ll draw up the flight plan.”

 

\------

 

The sun was high, the sky was blue, and Jemma had a distinct sense of impending disaster.

Not real disaster, not the kind where anyone was in danger (or in more danger than usual), but the kind of disaster that would potentially involve her having to save her best friend and secret boyfriend from the clutches of a billionaire-slash-playboy-slash-philanthropist. Currently, she was standing next to Fitz as he fumbled with something in the aluminum case of samples and supplies he’d be bringing to the conference. On the other side of the private airfield stood the flight personnel, a plane large and luxurious enough to make her almost miss their life on the Bus, and the two Avengers themselves. When the infamous Tony Stark drew Captain Steve Rogers down for a heated kiss, however, she averted her gaze. A small part of her wondered if she and Fitz would ever dare to be so open about their relationship, and she resisted the temptation to card her fingers through his curls. They were just so fetching in the sunlight, all wind-blown with blond highlights, and she dropped her eyes as he looked up.

“That’s me ready, then,” he said with a half-smile, thankfully not noticing her admiring gaze. With a few quick snaps, the case was closed up, and he straightened into a standing position. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Right,” she said, giving him a warm smile and twisting her fingers together to keep from reaching for him. “Tomorrow it is.”

Fitz slid his eyes over to the SHIELD SUV, next to which stood May, arms crossed and aviators in place. Clearing his throat, he took a small step forward. “I’ll, uh, miss you.” 

“Me, too,” she said, wondering idly if she’d ever get tired of smiling at him. The sun caught his eyes, irises becoming an enchanting, translucent blue. _Probably not_. 

Her hands twitched forward, desperately wanting to hug or hold or even kiss him like normal couples were allowed to do before any mundane separation. But they’d agreed months back that they needed time to explore their romantic relationship before going to Coulson to ask for permission to defy SHIELD’s anti-fraternization policy. (Based on the continued length of the kissing session still taking place on the opposite side of the airfield, the policy didn’t apply if you were an Avenger. Having infinite funds or super-strength probably had something to do with that.) Besides, being publicly affectionate around the Playground would probably just make everyone else uncomfortable, and neither of them wanted to upset the current, efficient working peace of the base.

Instead of doing what she wanted, Jemma reached forward to tug quickly at the edge of his navy blazer. “Be careful,” she said at last, and then tried not to feel annoyed at the way he rolled his eyes. 

“I’m just going to a conference, and I’ll be next to bloody Iron Man the whole time. How much safer could I be?” 

“Ugh, _Fitz_ ,” she muttered, curling her hand more tightly around the hem of his jacket. “Just – please?”

“I promise,” he grumbled. Then he leaned forward as if he was going to kiss her, froze, glanced at May, and almost-successfully played it off by swooping down to pick up his case. “Bye, Jemma.” With that, he strolled towards the plane, meeting Stark a few paces away from the stairs. 

“Fitz, great to meet ya –” 

“You, too, sir –”

“Jesus, ‘sir’ in that accent,” Stark said with a shudder, giving May a wave over Jemma’s shoulder. “Please, call me Tony. My friends call me Tony, my enemies call me Tony – it’s just easier that way, keeps things simple. You invented the Mouse Hole, right?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose when Stark clapped Fitz on the back, sending him shooting forward a couple fast steps. 

“Uh, yeah,” Fitz answered, a distinct note of pride to his voice, getting fainter the further away they walked. “That’s one of mine.” Letting out a low sigh as she watched them, Jemma nodded, thinking that maybe they would get along after all.

“That’s a sweet little device,” Stark said, letting go of Fitz’s shoulder and stepping onto the plane’s stairs. “A little inelegant, but nice. Cute.” 

Fitz stopped in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs, and Jemma could envision exactly how his jaw had dropped open. “ _Inelegant?!_ ” 

She sighed, crossing her arms and watching him stomp up the stairs after Stark, probably muttering angrily to himself all the way. Maybe they _weren’t_ going to get along after all.

A strong hand patted her on the shoulder, and she turned to gaze up (and up and up) at Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. “It’ll be fine,” he said, trying for reassuring but only coming up skeptical. “Tony’s, ah, kind of an acquired taste. Sometimes.”

“So is Fitz,” she admitted, giving the Captain a wry smile. “Must be something about engineers.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” As the flight crew finished closing the cabin door, he turned back to her. “Agent May tells me that the Playground has a number of SSR file rooms.”

Puzzled by his change of topic, Jemma wrinkled her nose, trying not to look bemused. “Ah, yes, it does.”

“I was wondering....” Rogers cleared his throat, tugging on the zipper to his brown leather jacket. “There’d be a lot of Agent Carter’s work in there, right?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, yes –! I sorted through it all last year, when we were looking into old SSR cases.”

“Mind giving me a tour?” His smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, and he glanced away. “I’d like to see where she worked.” 

“I’d be happy to,” Jemma answered warmly, and turned towards the SUV and May. “I’m sure the lab can do without me for a couple of hours.” 

“Actually,” he said, keeping pace next to her, “I don’t mean to impose, but I’d kinda like to see that, too. The lab. Hear you and Fitz are doing some pretty extraordinary things in there.” 

“Oh,” she said, a flush working into her cheeks. “Yes, well, I mean, I’d be happy to! It’s not an imposition at all, Captain –”

His laugh interrupted her, and he waved a hand in her direction. “It’s Steve. No outfit,” he joked, indicating his casual clothes, “no ‘captain.’”

“I’m not sure that’s how the world sees it,” she teased back, reaching for the car’s door handle. “But I suppose I understand the instinct.”

Climbing into the front of the SUV, May took a deep breath of countryside air and smiled. Troublemaker Stark was out of her hair, and both Simmons and Rogers were too well behaved to be any trouble at the base. 

It was going to be a good day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daaaa! At _long_ last, I've finally come back to finish this fic! The plan is to post the rest every few days until it's done, barring unforeseen circumstances irl taking up my allotted editing time. :-)
> 
> And a huge thank you to MK for betaing this retroactively and at the last minute!

Today, Fitz decided, was a terrible day.

In addition to one of his biggest heroes being a complete prat (perhaps unsurprisingly, he had to admit), said hero seemed to have a sixth sense about his and Jemma’s clandestine relationship. Ever since they’d gotten onto the plane, Stark had been peppering Fitz with questions about how long he and Jemma had known each other, how they’d met, and even gone so far to wonder what their dating lives were like while cooped up in the Playground all the time. Even Fitz curling grumpily over his laptop and hiding behind the screen hadn’t deterred Stark.

“You more of an Aberlour or a Bowman fella?”

Fitz glanced up from where he was distracting himself with some mindless coding to see Stark removing two short, rounded glasses from the bar’s countertop cabinet. Because the plane had a full-service bar. Naturally. Whose plane _didn’t_ have a full-service bar? Thinking about the plane that had once been his home, Fitz resisted the urge to mumble to himself about SHIELD’s penchant for making sure its agents and assets were always properly plied with alcohol. 

Catching Stark’s meaning, Fitz shrugged. “Not a Scotch fan, to be honest.”

Stark did a nearly comical double-take. “ _Whaaaat_? And they let you keep the accent?” 

Fitz cut his eyes in the other man’s direction. “S’long as I gave up kilts, too, they let it slide.” 

“Alright,” Stark chuckled, keeping one of the whiskey glasses out and reaching for a different lowball one instead. “So what’s your poison?” 

“Nothing, thanks,” Fitz replied, refocusing on his screen. “Not while I’m working.” 

“Let’s go with gin. Anchor’s been having a good year....” Stark rummaged around for his intended bottle, and Fitz bit his tongue to keep from snapping back. The man was a genius, if something of a pain in the ass, and most importantly he was Fitz’s only ride home – his only ride back to Jemma, who he already missed terribly. If she were here, she’d know how to deal with Stark; she’d always had a better sense of how to deal with difficult geniuses than he did. 

“Jemma like a good cocktail?”

“She prefers wine, red if it’s dry as....” Fitz trailed off, cheeks heating up at Stark’s knowing eyebrow raise. “What?”

“Not something _just_ a lab partner’d know,” Stark drawled, dropping a twist of lemon into the drink he was preparing. 

“We’ve been partners since we were sixteen. I could tell you more about Simmons than I could ‘bout my mum.” Fitz couldn’t help the defensive snap to his tone, and he cut his eyes back to his keyboard. Maybe if he concentrated really hard, his ears wouldn’t heat up in embarrassment.

Stark hummed as he rounded the bar, his own glass of whiskey in one hand and Fitz’s drink in the other. “I bet you could. Drink up,” he said, pushing the lowball into Fitz’s reluctant hand, “they know their gin in San Fran. Left my heart there, too.” As he sprawled across the leather couch, he laughed again. “Well, when I say heart, I really mean a half-million dollar investment in this brewery. And possibly a pair of jeans.” 

“Interesting business model,” Fitz muttered drily, watching as Stark pressed the intercom buzzer. 

“Girls, we need you.” 

Fitz’s eyes widened, and he swallowed nervously. That did not sound promising.

 

\------

 

After Jemma bid farewell to May in the Playground’s hangar, she could have sworn that she heard the other woman breathe a sigh of relief. Jemma was distracted nearly immediately, though, by the literal superhero who strode up next to her. 

Planting his feet on the concrete and clasping his hands behind his back, Steve Rogers gave Jemma an unfairly charming, almost-shy smile.

“Mind if we head to those SSR rooms first?” 

“Of course,” she squeaked, and then ducked her head as she hurried to the main entryway, waving for him to follow her. As they walked together to the file rooms – with Steve taking one step to every two of Jemma’s – she fought hard against the inner five-year-old who couldn’t believe she was talking to _Captain America_.

Being proudly English, his title hadn’t affected her as a young girl as much as the fact that he was the forever lost love of her idol, Peggy Carter. The irony that she was now telling Steve any bits of trivia that she could remember about SHIELD’s founder during her work on this very base was not lost on Jemma. Of course, it was rather hard to remember any trivia at all with the Captain himself watching her with his disarming, baby blue eyes and asking earnest, thoughtful questions.

Somehow, though, by the time they made it into the largest of the file rooms (and Jemma had managed to find the light switch), she’d almost forgotten about his title and his powers. (When she wasn’t looking straight at him, anyway.) He truly had an air about him that put people at ease; it was probably one of the many things that made him a good leader. 

They fell into comfortable silence while she picked through one of the filing cabinets, looking for any file that seemed to have a lot of Peggy’s handwriting. Jemma had poured through the founder’s work many months ago, back when she and Fitz still weren’t speaking and she’d felt the need to escape the labs to give him space, but she wasn’t quite sure what case might be of the most interest to her guest. 

At last, a particularly thick folder caught her attention, and she grinned. “Captain... ah, Steve.”

“Captain Steve,” he chuckled, peering at the yellowed labels on one of the filing cabinets. “That sounds like the kind of name they give to those old guys who play chess in the park.” Straightening, he gave her a crooked smile. “I’d meet the age req, but I never liked chess. Kinda slow.”

“I always thought so, too, actually,” she replied, weaving around the boxes piled high to make her way over to him, the folder clutched tightly to her chest. “Fitz was always more of a chess fan. I just liked beating him.” When she reached Steve, he was giving her an amused eyebrow raise and she flushed. “I... we... were always rather competitive....”

“I know the feeling.” He nodded at the portrait of Peggy that hung prominently on the brick wall. “Peg used to say I’d fight a rock if it looked at me wrong.” 

“Rough day to be a rock,” Jemma teased back, earning her another small laugh. “I found something that might interest you.” Placing the folder on the large, wooden table at the center of the room, she slid into the chair and gestured for him to join her. 

When he scooted his chair right next to hers, chiseled jaw catching the dim lighting in a particularly noir-aesthetic way, she fought the urge to fan herself. Thank goodness Fitz wasn’t privy to the thoughts she was having at this particular moment. It’s not that she was interested in Steve Rogers; she was, after all, very happily in a secret but loving relationship with her best friend in the world, and she had no desire for anything about that to change. (Well, she would rather like to be able to shout her feelings about Fitz for all the world to hear, but that wasn’t to be helped at the moment.) But that didn’t stop the general attractiveness of the superhero next to her from making her feel a tad giddy, and she was sure that Fitz’s already questionable self-esteem wouldn’t do well to hear such musings. (Actually, if she were changing things, she’d love for Fitz to be able to see himself as she saw him. That, however, was probably the most unlikely thing of all.) 

“It’s one of her more challenging cases,” Jemma continued once they were both situated, carefully flipping open the folder. “The discovery and capture of Dorothy Underwood.” 

“Dorothy Underwood,” Steve repeated, plucking a picture of the woman herself away from where it had been paper-clipped to the cardstock. “Good name.” When he turned the photograph around, something dark passed across his face.

“What is it?”

The strange expression disappeared nearly as soon as it had come, and Steve looked up at her with a congenial smile. “Peg’s notes.”

He flipped the picture around for Jemma to see herself. Written on the back in neat, tightly curved handwriting was the name of the subject, the date, and the photographing agent – Peggy Carter herself. A notation that Jemma didn’t understand drew her eye, and she frowned, leaning forward.

“Is that a....” 

“An alpha symbol,” he finished for her, placing the picture neatly next to the folder. “Means Ms. Underwood here was a high priority get.” Steve nudged the picture so that the edge was perfectly aligned with the papers. “That was one of Peggy’s notations. Not standard. Wasn’t any use for it after a mission was finished other than for her to keep score.” Silence hovered between the two of them, and Jemma fidgeted with the folder’s red string clasp. “So,” Steve continued, his smile not quite able to hide the sadness that lurked behind his expression now, “what was so special about this case?”

Reaching forward to flip through the papers, Steve didn’t quite meet Jemma’s eyes again as she started talking through the history she knew about the founder’s New York escapades. But she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t listening to her so much as he was memorizing every inky stroke of Peggy Carter’s pen.

 

\------

 

“Fitz, that is not the face of a man who’s having a good time!”

That, Fitz thought darkly, was because he was decidedly _not_ having a good time.

For someone who was ostensibly in a happy relationship of his own, Stark seemed to be perfectly content to flirt with the scantily clad stewardesses who had pranced out of the serving area of the private plane. Fitz, on the other hand, was wildly uncomfortable with the way the girls – _women_ , he corrected himself in his head – were dancing ever closer to where he sat hunched over his laptop. All he could think about was what Jemma would say were she to know what he was trying very, very carefully not to look at right now. Even though he genuinely had no interest in any of the women on this plane, he was quite certain that good boyfriends in serious, committed relationships did not ogle other women, either intentionally or unintentionally. 

The only way he’d be interested in the current dance party – complete with flashing neon lights – was if Jemma were here with him. Then the image of his girlfriend in one of the skimpy stewardess outfits popped into his head, and his eyes slid out of focus. Yes, he’d be very interested in that.

“C’mon, man,” Stark said, appearing suddenly and flopping onto the leather sofa next to Fitz. “Young guy like yourself’s gotta loosen up every now and then!” 

“Not my kind of loosening up,” he muttered. Reaching over for his second glass of gin, Fitz was dismayed to see that it was empty and let out a low huff. Despite his previous assertion that he didn’t drink while working – which he would be as soon as the plane landed – he found that the gin actually helped him feel marginally less painfully uncomfortable in his current situation.

“Oh shit,” Stark said, sitting forward with wide eyes. “Girls aren’t your thing? I’m sorry man, I made a judgment call – Viktor! Chase!” he called in the direction of the cockpit. “Let Georgina take over –”

“Uh, _no_ ,” Fitz spluttered, waving his hands in front of himself and nearly dropping his laptop on the floor. “No, not – not that. That’s not my – my thing, either. My type. Of, erm – loosening. I like girls for that. Not for loosening, I mean – _fuck_ ,” he bit out, rubbing at his forehead and feeling somewhat faint at the way everyone in the room had stopped dancing and was now staring at him. “I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Gay is fine. I’m just – not. That. So. It’s – fine. Like this.” 

With a raised eyebrow, Stark called out again for the pilots to keep going and then turned back to Fitz. “Good to know ‘gay is fine.’ That’s nice, I’d wear that on a t-shirt.” 

Fitz made a noise that was a cross between a whine and a groan. “I didn’t....”

“ _Damn_ do you have to relax – I was kidding.” Stark chucked him congenially on the shoulder and Fitz suppressed the urge to scoot so far away from him that he fell off the couch. “You’re single, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Fitz answered, somewhat too emphatically. “Totally single. One hundred percent – that.”

“So go talk to the girls,” Stark said, nudging his shoulder with his own. “Georgina’s one of the best fighter pilots I’ve ever met, trained under the Falcon himself.”

“But you’ve got her here,” Fitz said slowly, unable to hide the disgust in his voice, “dancing in... in that thing?”

“She’s here to fly us back so Chase doesn’t exceed his flight quota for the week,” Stark replied, voice just a touch more brittle than it had been before. “Viktor isn’t senior enough yet to fly one of these bad boys on his own. Note that she’s the only one in here right now who isn’t drinking. And the girls decide whatever they wanna wear up here – must be nice not to have anyone around to judge ‘em for it.” Fitz shrunk a little in his seat, ears heating up as he dropped his gaze back to his computer. “And I can’t say that I mind the view.” Stark’s smirk was firmly back in place for the last comment, and Fitz rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, it’s distracting.” As he tried to remember what he’d been doing before Stark had plopped down next to him, he gave his head a brief shake. The room took an extra second to snap back into focus, and he blew out a slow breath. Those two glasses of gin were definitely taking their toll.

“I mean,” Stark said, and Fitz almost missed the calculating glint in his eye, “since you’re single, and all....”

“Oh yeah,” Fitz agreed too quickly. “Yup, single, definitely.” Then he frowned. “I mean, it’s not like I’m... always single. Just. Right now. Temporarily single. Kind of... thing.”

Ignoring his stammering, Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “So you should be enjoying this! Oh, hey,” he said, grabbing for Fitz’s empty glass, “lemme get that for ya. A glass of Caorunn’ll loosen you right up.”

Fitz tried to give him a smile as Stark hopped back over the bar, but he was pretty sure it came out more of a grimace. His eyes trailed without any conscious thought over the prominently displayed breasts of the stewardess (whose name he’d forgotten) standing next to Stark, and Fitz whipped his head around so fast that his neck cracked. Wincing, he wondered if pretending that all of the women in the room right now were Jemma would make things better or worse. The image of Jemma in one of those outfits yet again popped into his head, and he let out a low sigh, staring blankly at the screen of his computer.

Worse. Definitely worse.


	3. Chapter 3

“Then she punched the guy square in the jaw,” Steve finished, laughing along with Jemma as he leaned back in his chair. “Knew right then I’d _never_ met a woman like her.”

“That’s certainly one way to deal with male chauvinist pigs,” Jemma agreed. Standing so she could finish cleaning up the folder detailing Peggy’s other escapades, she chuckled. “I can only imagine Fitz’s face if I were to just punch all the SHIELD agents who treated me like that.”

Steve let out a distinct noise of horror and sat forward, staring earnestly up at her. “People still say shit like that? Even today?”

Jemma sublimated the bizarre urge to pat Captain America on the head. “I’m afraid so.”

Giving his head a sad shake, he watched as she returned the folder to the cabinet from whence it came. “I see all these great changes – Peg founding SHIELD, the Internet, Super Mario Brothers – but then there’s still all that old bullshit that _still_ hasn’t gotten better. I just don’t get it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that either,” Jemma replied, folding her hands in front of her and lips twitching up in a half-smile. “But things will always keep getting better. I have to trust in that.”

“You’re pretty optimistic for a scientist.” Steve leaned back in his chair, studying her.

“You’re pretty feminist for a soldier,” she shot back, and he laughed.

“Touché.” He glanced behind her and then dropped his gaze to his lap, where he pinched at something as if he was trying to remove a thread from the denim. “So, ah, you got any other stories? ‘Bout Peg?”

Frowning, Jemma hesitated before answering, twisting her fingers together. “I’m... I don’t mean to pry, but if you don’t mind...” she stammered, taking a few steps back towards him. “Why are you here, Captain? Steve, sorry,” she rushed to correct herself, “Steve. I don’t mind, obviously, and I’m almost certainly the best person on the base to tell you about Peggy Carter because I’ve gone through nearly all of these files personally, but... you could be learning anything about the Playground. Getting intel updates, or....” As she spoke, she noticed the way his expression began to droop, until at last he dropped the chair back onto all four legs, effectively getting her to stop her rambling.

“I don’t...” he began, clearing his throat. “Don’t get many chances to hear ‘bout her life. I visit her every two weeks, y’know, but she doesn’t always... she tells the same stories a lot. And she, ah, hasn’t been doing so great lately. I’m not sure how long....” He stopped, looking quickly away, and Jemma felt something in her chest clench. With a gentle movement, she slipped into the chair kitty-corner from his, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Figured maybe if I had some details to prompt her with, y’know, if I brought something with me, that might help. Get her going on her own.” His voice was at once rough and yet more vulnerable than one might expect to hear from Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma whispered, hard-pressed to fight back the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t know....”

Steve made a small, dismissive huff and shook his head. “Hey, you wouldn’t.”

When he didn’t continue, she reached out to gently rest her fingers over the back of his hand. Surprised, he flicked his eyes up to meet hers. “I know it’s... not the same. But last year, Fitz – he, well, he was recovering from a fairly severe brain injury. I know how hard it can be to watch someone that you... care about to not even know who you are.” 

“It’s not the easiest thing I’ve ever had to deal with,” he said drily, but not unkindly, and she let out a low laugh.

“No, I’d imagine not.” 

“I just wanna get to know about her life.” Steve leaned back in his chair, looking up at Peggy’s portrait from where it watched over them. “‘Cause then maybe – maybe I didn’t get to miss everything.” 

Silence hung between them for a few long seconds, and Jemma tried to come up with something, anything to say. She was well aware how close she and Fitz came to having a tragic story altogether too similar to Steve and Peggy’s, but, thankfully, they hadn’t. So what did she say to someone who hadn’t been as extraordinarily lucky as she?

“What about...” she began haltingly, “um, Mr. Stark...?” 

“Tony,” Steve exhaled, a smile flitting reflexively across his face. “Yeah, Tony, he’s great. I mean, it’s not like I ever forget I’m a man outta his time when I’m with him, with all his gizmos.” He laughed, and she reminded herself to be polite and not correct the Captain’s rather nonspecific use of the word _gizmos_. “But it doesn’t really matter when we’re together. Keeps me grounded.” Jemma couldn’t help the way her eyebrows raised at that, and Steve chuckled at her expression. “Tony isn’t as... over the top when it’s just us. I mean, he is, but not... not like he seems.”

“I think I know what you mean,” she offered with a smile. 

“Yeah.” Absently smoothing one finger along the edge of the table, he nodded, some of the sadness on his face having leeched away. 

“Well,” Jemma said, giving his hand a quick squeeze and standing up again, “I think I’ve got another file or two to show you.” As she pulled open a nearby cabinet, a thought struck her and she let out a huff of laughter. “I hope you’re right about Mr. Stark not being quite as over the top as he seems. Fitz doesn’t tend to like people who are quite so... gregarious.”

Steve let out a small snort. “Let’s just hope that Tony’s in one of his more mellow moods.”

 

\------

 

The gin had been a very, _very_ bad idea.

Fitz was both trying to clear his vision while decidedly not looking at the buxom air steward who was currently dancing, half-clothed, right in front of him. At some point a few minutes prior, Stark had unsubtly managed to introduce Fitz to the stewardesses (whose names he’d promptly forgotten – again) while also steering their dance party in his direction. Although he’d retreated as far into the couch as he could possibly move, the woman whose name he couldn’t remember (Anita? Lupita? Ricki?) seemed to have taken a liking to him, and she was mere centimeters away from landing in his lap. This would have been a problem twofold, because in addition to Fitz vehemently not wanting a lap dance of any kind from this otherwise nice-seeming woman, it would also result in her falling on top of his computer, which he seriously wouldn’t appreciate. 

“I remember when Fury first got his hands on the Mouse Hole,” Tony was saying, somewhere out of Fitz’s current view – which he was trying to limit to his laptop’s 15 inch-wide screen. “He was pretty excited about it. Me, I thought it could’ve used some improvements.” The genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist was inspecting one of the aforementioned gadgets, which Fitz had packed in his case for the conference. 

His cheeks flushing in anger, Fitz craned his head around the woman dancing in front of him. “It’s small, _elegant_ , and effective! It doesn’t require a huge power source –”

“Well, if that doesn’t sound dirty, I don’t know what does,” said the woman in front of him, swaying her hips from side to side, and the others tittered. 

When Fitz tried to speak again, he let out a strange, high-pitched noise and needed to clear his throat three times before he tried again. “ _AND_ its v-very small cutting radius makes it, um, safer to use than other devices with soldering or cutting utilities!”

“Could be smaller though,” Stark mused, picking up a car magazine and taking a sip of his drink. “And I bet it’d be damned useful if it could be used at a distance – like a gun sight, but with cutting power.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Fitz muttered, mildly miffed that the distance idea hadn’t occurred to him on his own. (At least, not in regards to this device – and besides, he’d made it back at Sci-Ops. He’d grown as a scientist since then, or so Jemma assured him.) “And I haven’t had time to redesign it. Works –”

“Well,” Stark retorted, “what’re you doing now?” 

Fitz’s jaw worked silently for a few moments. Actually, he _did_ already have some ideas for how to tweak the design, things that he’d thought up in the shower or while he was trying to fall asleep at night, lying in Jemma’s arms and listening to her breathing even out. Their flight would be at least another few hours, _and_ Stark had bragged earlier that he had a 3D printer on the plane in case he felt like tinkering on long trips.

“We’re having a good time, aren’t we?” A long-nailed finger reached out to trail beneath his chin, and Fitz scrambled ass-over-kettle to the other side of the couch, nearly dropping his laptop in the process. 

“I need the loo,” he squeaked, flitting his eyes from the bemused stewardess to the knowing smirk on Stark’s face before he sped down the length of the plane to the restrooms.

Once he’d locked himself inside, he dug his phone out of his pocket and paused with his finger over the “airplane mode” button. His brain was annoyingly swimmy, but he was still pretty sure that him making one phone call to his girlfriend wouldn’t send the plane crashing to the ground. (And even if it did, he was flying with a bleeding superhero – they’d be fine.)

Grumbling when it took him two tries to select Jemma’s contact (his finger kept slipping), he dropped onto the closed toilet seat. As the tinny ringtone sounded through the speaker, he thought about how this plane restroom was actually nicer than the normal, stationary ones back at the Playground. Being Tony Stark certainly had its perks.

 

\------

 

Jemma watched as Steve flipped through a small pile of polaroid pictures from one of Peggy’s later cases, a small smile ticking up her own mouth as she saw the happiness and interest on his face. The pictures themselves were nothing fancy – a small commotion had erupted at the Stark residence and their butler had insisted on photographing the happy resolution. When Jemma had first discovered the pictures many months back, she'd found them amusing but otherwise irrelevant.

Her interest lay in the founder’s bigger, complicated cases, in the ways that she earned the respect of others without ever needing to dull the shine of her own intelligence. Jemma had never pretended to be anything she wasn’t; it was against her nature to do so. But sometimes being a woman at the head of her department in SHIELD was very tiresome, particularly when the whole system had been reordered after Hydra’s reveal and certain scientists didn’t understand how she’d jumped so many levels. So, every so often, she liked to look to Agent Carter for inspiration, using her heroine’s poise and success to inform her own life.

She sighed and reached into her pocket, reflexively checking her phone to see if she’d received any messages from Fitz. Checking was useless down here, she knew – the Playground had poor reception even on the main floor, let alone three levels down, and her mobile wasn’t even getting WiFi in this room. Only a few hours had passed, but she was anxious to hear how Fitz was getting along with the famously abrasive Avenger. Of course, simply wishing to know wouldn’t help, and so she surreptitiously tucked the phone back into her pocket.

“No word from Fitz?”

Jemma glanced up to see that Steve was giving her a knowing look, and she set her face into an impassive smile. “No word from anyone,” she replied. “No signal at all down here.”

Steve chuckled and patted his jeans pocket. “Well, my Avengers phone gets signal anywhere, but that’s not exactly up on the open market.”

“Fitz would _love_ to get his hands on one of those,” she said with a grin. “If he isn’t working in the lab, he’s tinkering with his phone. Or my phone, if I’m not careful.”

Nodding, Steve set about carefully gathering the Polaroids into a pile. “You two are pretty close, huh?”

“Inseparable,” Jemma replied automatically, and then tried to will away her blush. “He’s my best friend, you know.”

Steve hummed, and she thought she saw him raise one eyebrow a fraction of a centimeter. With the photos all neatly returned to their manila envelope and tucked neatly into the folder, he tapped the edge firmly against the table. “So, what’s next?” 

Happy for the distraction, she gave him a warm smile and pushed out of her chair. “Oh, I think I can find us something. Did you know that Agent Carter was instrumental in field-testing a line of poisonous lipsticks?”

 

\------

 

Fitz banged his head gently against the wall of the plane’s restroom as he listened to Jemma’s voicemail click in again. What was he supposed to do with Tony bloody Stark circling closer and closer to getting the truth of their relationship out of him? As one of the Avengers and therefore someone very high ranking in SHIELD’s ranks, did Stark have the power to fire him for section 17 on the spot? It would be hypocritical, but it was plausible. And, to be frank, in addition to being drunk, Fitz was now mildly horny – thanks to the scantily clad, dancing strangers (he was only human) – and would really appreciate having his girlfriend in the restroom stall with him right about now. _That_ would definitely be a better way for him to spend his time. 

Spend his time.... 

Something clicked in Fitz’s head, and he shot forward to scramble at the door’s latch before bursting back into the main cabin. 

“This isn’t a standard engine, is it?” Stark looked up from where he was peering at the underneath of the Mouse Hole, and Fitz grabbed onto the stripper pole to keep himself standing. “I mean, you’ve made mods, yeah?”

“I’m Tony Stark,” he responded drily. “You really think I’d let someone _else_ build the engine of my private plane?”

A little voice in the back of Fitz’s head tried to convince him not to say what he was about to, but he squashed it with a quick blink and a wide grin. “I know exactly what I need to redesign the Mouse Hole.”

As Stark leapt off the sofa with an excited smile of his own, Fitz felt a surge of competitiveness. This would definitely prove to Tony Stark that Fitz was exactly as brilliant as everyone said.


	4. Chapter 4

While Jemma was in the middle of explaining the intricacies of the case file currently spread out between her and Steve, a loud alarm went off, and she jumped in surprise.

“Sorry,” Steve said over the noise, frowning as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the device he’d dubbed his “Avengers phone” not long before. “Gotta take this.” At the press of one button, the alarm noise ceased. “Hello?” His worry faded into one of distinct wryness. “What?” Jemma couldn’t hear what was being said through the phone, but Steve’s eyes narrowed until they were practically slits. “You’re _where_?”

 

\------

 

Many hours later, Jemma barely waited for the SUV to stop before she opened her door and leapt out. Sitting in the middle of a deserted field was Stark’s private plane, the nose flipped open and smoke filtering from it into the cloudless sky. To her alarm, she spotted two figures seated on the plane’s wing, legs dangling over the edge.

“Fitz,” she shouted, not waiting for Steve to climb out of the SUV himself before she ran up to the plane. “What are you _doing_?”

He turned at the sound of her voice, and, despite the fact that he was silhouetted by the bright blue sky, she could still see his face light up. “Jemma!” 

“ _Simmons_ ,” she muttered automatically, watching anxiously as he clambered to his feet and let what looked to be an empty glass bottle fall unceremoniously onto the wing.

“Hey,” Stark said, seemingly affronted. “Drop trash on your own plane.” 

It took Fitz quite a bit longer than it might have were he sober to cross the wing behind Stark and then climb down the exit stairs, but at long last he was back on solid ground and Jemma breathed a small sigh of relief. Then, however, he came right at her with his arms wide open, and she nearly panicked, because, oh God, he had clearly been drinking and he was probably going to out their relationship in front of two bloody Avengers, as well as Agents May, Triplett, and Piper, all of whom were about to join them.

“Jemma,” Fitz slurred, thankfully planting his hands on her shoulders rather than grabbing her in a hug. “I fixed the mousole.”

She blinked back at him, a wrinkle forming in her brow. “The mousole... the Mouse Hole? What was wrong with it?”

“NUFFIN,” he retorted, nearly falling forward until she caught him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Made it _better_.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes. “Leopold Fitz, did you get drunk with Tony Stark and then decide to reinvent a perfectly good utility tool just to show off?”

He was silent for a few moments, shifting back on his feet just enough that he held more of his own weight. “No...?”

“How’s he doing?” Steve strode up, ducking the wing and raising one hand in greeting to Stark, who was descending the staircase behind them.

“Um,” Jemma said, not quite sure how to tell Captain America that her definitely-not-boyfriend was completely blotto. “A bit off his game, actually. I think I’ll take him back to the quinjet right off, if you don’t mind –” She stopped short, though, when Fitz leapt forward and snatched what was apparently the redesigned Mouse Hole out of Stark’s hand.

“Mine,” Fitz muttered, stumbling against Jemma and allowing her to force his arm around her shoulders again. “ _My_ patent.”

“Yessir,” Stark said jovially, seeming completely sober. “That, my friends, is a beautiful little gizmo.”

“We’ll have Piper take you back first,” May interrupted, striding up next to Jemma and her eyes roving critically over the plane before narrowing as giggles wafted from within the main cabin. “You can help Agent Fitz sober up before takeoff. Don’t think we’ll need you for this.”

“Thank you, Agent May,” Jemma said, giving her superior a grateful smile. The older woman let her lips tick up into a brief, weary smile in return. 

At May’s gesture, a junior agent jogged back to the SUV ahead of Jemma and Fitz’s virtual crawl, kindly opening the door as they approached.

“Thank you, Piper.” Jemma’s smile slipped as Fitz nearly slid out of her grasp and onto the grass, but the other woman helped her manhandle him successfully into the car.

“No problem,” Piper replied, eyes twinkling as she closed the passenger door.

Once they were all in the car, Jemma wriggled away from where Fitz was attempting to wrap himself bodily around her and scooted forward enough so that she could speak to Piper. “I’m sorry, but would you mind terribly if we closed this...?” She indicated the partition that separated the front two seats, provided in SHIELD SUVs for transporting sensitive personnel.

“Sure.” Piper grinned as she reached for the gearshift. “But no funny business back there, okay? I don’t want to have to Clorox this thing back at base.” 

“Believe me,” Jemma muttered as the black plastic rose between them, “that _won’t_ be a problem.”

The second that she settled herself back into a black leather seat, Fitz wrapped his arms around her abdomen in a slightly awkward hug. “Jeeeeeeeeeeemma.”

“Hi, Fitz,” she replied, unsuccessfully suppressing a laugh as she carded her fingers through his hair. The van bumped a little over the terrain as Piper hit the gas, and she glanced down to make sure that Fitz had secured himself with his seatbelt. (He had, although it was now stretched all the way across the seat to accommodate their position.) 

“Missed you,” he mumbled, nuzzling against her blouse.

Before she could think of a witty retort, he pushed himself up so that he could press their lips clumsily together. She made a little noise of surprise, his movement sudden enough that she hadn’t expected it, but she also didn’t move away. When he’d managed to settle his hands more securely on the cushioning, he leaned in again, angling her lips open to brush their tongues lazily together. Jemma let her eyes flutter shut, enjoying the luxurious way her secret boyfriend-slash-best friend kissed her, even with the slight taste of alcohol on his tongue (was that gin?). In truth, she rather liked drunk Fitz, who was always a little more direct and a little more tactile than he was when sober; it was a shame most of this would be wasted on a plane while surrounded by their colleagues. 

“You taste like a bar.” Jemma sighed as he slid her collar aside and began sucking gently at the join of her neck and shoulder. In response, he just hummed. When she felt him shifting as if he was about to try to climb over her on the backseat, however, she realized that she needed to bring drunk Fitz back to earth before he really got too far down an inappropriate path in a small vehicle occupied by a third agent, and she pushed firmly against his chest. “Oh no, I don’t think so.”

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmured, nuzzling at her skin. “[Pretty Jemma](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/110929614588/how-this-scene-shouldve-gone-aka-a-fitzsimmons). And smart,” he continued, trailing his lips up her neck and grazing just beneath her chin, “and sexy....” 

“Fitz,” she snapped, and he froze just millimeters away from her lips. “The divider might be soundproof, but we are _not_ fooling around in this car. Do you understand?”

He pouted and tucked his head into the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms docilely around her midsection. “Fine. But i’s all I’ve been thinking ‘bout all day.”

“Snogging?” she teased, scratching her fingers through the short hairs at the top of his neck.

“N’ stuff,” he mumbled, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we’ll just have to the _stuff_ for later.” He sighed deeply, and she let out another small laugh.

With a bit of rearranging, she settled them so that she leaned back against the door, with Fitz curled around her side – while lying mostly on top of her. His weight was a bit much at this angle, but for the short ride she would happily bear it. In general, she found the warm press of him on top of her rather soothing, although usually when that happened they were both nude and significantly more alone than they were now. 

“Next time we...” he started, and she could feel him frown against her neck. 

“Do ‘stuff?’” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and she would swear that he sounded embarrassed. “That. D’you think you’d maybe wear something like a – a costume?” 

A grin broke across her face, and she reached down to tangle their fingers together. “Do you mean like roleplay?” 

“... Sorta.”

“What did you have in mind?”

He paused, and she gave brief thought to teasing him about hearing the gears turning in his head.

“Sexy air person?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Air person. Oh! A stewardess?” When he nodded against her instead of answering, she let go of his hand so she could tilt his face up. “Is there something I should know about?” she teased, amused by the thought of her best friend daydreaming about her on a private plane.

A stricken look crossed Fitz’s face. “One of them touched me but I would _never_ , y’know I would never, and I wouldn’t want to, at all, not even for a second, I promise, all I wanted was it to be you.”

She shushed him, craning her neck down at an uncomfortable angle so that she could press their lips together. “I know, Fitz, I know,” she assured him, her head hitting a bit hard against the window as the car went over a sharp bump.

“Okay, good.” He settled his head back on her shoulder. “S’only ever you.”

Even though the words were slurred and mumbled against her skin, warmth spread through Jemma’s chest. Some days – most days, if she were thinking about it – she felt like the luckiest woman in the universe, to have fallen in love with her best friend and to be loved by him in return.

“Not that I would ever tell _anyone_ ,” he continued, and she rolled her eyes. “Because we don’t do that, because SHIELD, because the sections of the thing –”

“Section 17,” she corrected him, and he nodded, bumping his forehead against her chin.

“That one. They’ll never figure it out, y'know, I'm a steel trap.”

“Of _course_ you are, Fitz,” she said affectionately, brushing her lips against his forehead. As much as she appreciated how well he kept to their agreement, she couldn’t help but wonder when they could share their relationship with the rest of the world as openly as the two Avengers they’d left behind them at the plane.

 

\------

 

Dirt kicked up behind the SHIELD SUV as it sped away across the field, and Steve let out a small breath. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to say goodbye to Jemma, or to thank her for tolerating him peppering her with questions all day. No matter; he could either look up her SHIELD.gov email address or he could stop by the next time he had a free day. Well – as free a day as an Avenger ever had, anyway.

“So, how long’ve they been a thing?”

Steve turned to see Tony sauntering up alongside him, tossing a few peanuts from one of those little airplane snack bags into his mouth. When Steve didn’t answer, Tony tilted his head in the direction of the fast-disappearing car.

“Few months, give or take a decade of pining. You figured it out, too, huh?”

“I _am_ a genius,” Tony deadpanned. “That, and the kid wouldn’t go near the half-naked bait I basically dropped in his lap.”

Steve chuckled. “Subtle as a brick.”

“A _genius_ brick. And a good-looking one, too.”

“Agent Triplett,” came May’s voice from nearby, and Steve turned in her direction. A tall man with dark skin strode up, stopping in front of her in a soldier’s pose with his hands clasped behind his back. “Talk to the pilot and co-pilot about what happened. See if they know anything Stark wouldn’t tell us.”

“Hey,” Tony said indignantly, stepping forward at Steve’s right. “I’m right here.” 

May turned towards him, expression unchanging. “I know.”

After a few seconds, Agent Triplett suppressed a laugh as he cleared his throat. “Uh, yessir, Agent May.” While he jogged up to the plane’s steps, May strode in the opposite direction, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she went.

“Guess you really didn’t feel like going to that conference, huh?” Steve said drily, watching Tony pop a few more peanuts into his mouth. 

“Not so much.” Crumpling up the bag and shoving it in his pocket, Tony shrugged. “What’d you get up to all day?” 

“Doctor Simmons gave me a tour of the SSR rooms at the Playground.”

“Oh, that sounds riveting,” Tony deadpanned, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“She knows a lot about Peg. Most of her case files are still stored down there, so....”

“Ah-ha,” Tony said knowingly, and then stretched one hand out to rub over Steve’s back and shoulders. “Thought there had to be something else.”

Steve sighed, and after a moment reached around to tangle their fingers together. “It was good to hear about her. From someone who, I mean... doesn’t know....”

“I know,” Tony said quietly. After a few seconds, he stretched up to give Steve a sweet, comforting kiss. “You should spend more time there, really dig in.”

“Maybe,” he replied, squinting in the sunlight as more SHIELD cars arrived. “Maybe after....”

“You just lemme know what you need. Lemme know, and I’ll be there. With shwarma. Or I won’t be there. And I’ll send someone else with the shwarma.” Steve laughed, and Tony’s grin widened. No one else in the world knew how to make him laugh quite like Tony did. “Whatever you want. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his somber mood lightening the longer he was around his boyfriend. “Sounds good.” Seeing that Tony’s attention was a few seconds past being distracted by the emergence of some sort of technicians from the newly arrived SUVs, Steve leaned down to give him a peck on the cheek. Later, when they were alone in their quarters, hanging out or getting ready for bed, he’d tell Tony what he’d learned today about the adventures of Peggy Carter.

That being said, first, Steve had every intention of learning exactly how Tony had tortured the kid engineer into drinking what seemed like half a bottle of something strong, probably expensive, and wholly inappropriate for a work trip.

 

\------

 

As she watched the two Avengers split off to attend to different things – Stark to annoy the SHIELD techs who had just arrived, and Rogers to go save a few babies or something – May sighed. Her day had been so peaceful for those few hours; Coulson was cleaning his memorabilia collection, the base was running at a quiet hum of productivity, and she had been able to get in both some tai chi _and_ a few rounds with a punching bag. Then, of course, Stark happened.

Next time, she decided, Natasha would have to scheme to separate Stark and Rogers on her own. As far as May was concerned, trying to keep them apart was too much of a pain in the ass.

At the sound of arguing, May turned from where she’d been giving Coulson a status report and squinted at the plane that she was now in charge of finding a way to remove – even though it no longer had a functioning engine. 

She sighed. Rogers and Simmons had been quiet as mice the whole time they were at the base. _Why_ was it always engineers that caused the biggest problems?

 

**_The End_ **


	5. Epilogue

After a few hours of waiting, traveling, and sobering up while fast asleep on Jemma’s lap in the quinjet, Fitz was thrilled to finally be back at the base. As working hours were well past over by this point in the day, the two of them only spent the barest amount of time possible giving Coulson a quick debrief (Fitz was fine, no secrets had been leaked, and they promised to tell him first the next time they both arranged personal playdates with any of the Avengers) before heading in the direction of the residence halls. Fortunately, other than having allowed himself to be strung along by a famously quirky billionaire, Fitz didn’t have many regrets about the direction the day had taken. Those Mouse Hole adjustments had been niggling at the back of his mind for ages, and the conference itself hadn’t truly excited him. The fact that it didn’t even permit scientists from disciplines other than engineering annoyed him probably more than it should; he never liked when anything regarding their jobs excluded Jemma, even when the exclusion truly had nothing to do with her. 

Although she had refreshed his memory about a few key moments of the afternoon, a thought was still bothering him as they strode in companionable silence towards their rooms.

“Hey,” she said, nudging his arm with her own. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no, just....” Fitz sighed, and slowed to a stop. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter. “Jemma... why _are_ we still keeping this a secret? Y’know...” he trailed off, waving one hand between them. “I mean, I know why, but watching Stark and Captain America –”

“Steve,” Jemma interrupted him, and he blinked. “He prefers to be called Steve.”

“Right, sure, but – it just made me think. We could put in a formal request, y’know, they _do_ have those forms, and it might require a small hearing, but our work has been brilliant, we both know that, and I’m sure we could pass any –” 

“Fitz.” Her voice was low, and he looked quickly up from where he’d been twisting one thumb into the palm of his other hand. The incredulous smile she wore lit up her face in a way that he didn’t often see outside of the privacy of one of their bedrooms. “Those forms – they require a certain level of _commitment_ to be valid.”

“Yeah...?” That much he’d thought was obvious; agents couldn’t just get around Section 17’s regulations because they wanted a convenient shag.

“Do you really mean that?” Her smile was breathless and her fingers reached out to tug at the hem of his cardigan, and all of a sudden Fitz realized what she was asking.

“Of course I do,” he answered, giving her a somewhat bemused look. “You’re, ah... I mean, we’re... y’know how I feel about you, Jemma. S’not the kinda thing that ever goes away, I don’t think.” 

“Me, too,” she said, thankfully stopping him before he could ramble on and be even less articulate than he already had been today. “Me too, Fitz.” Stretching up on her tiptoes, she captured his lips with hers, catching him off-guard enough that he didn’t even think to stop her.

After a few moments, however, he realized that they were standing in a video-monitored hallway, and he pulled back. A smile was already back on her face by the time he opened his eyes again, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching up to cup her jaw with one hand. “Jemma... you’re sure? If we –”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” Then, without any hesitation, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and press their lips together again.

 

\------

 

“Holy shit.”

In the mess hall, May turned from where she was making herself a mug of green tea to get her through the paperwork from the day’s escapades. Skye was sitting in her usual place at one of the long tables, laptop open and her mouth working in silent shock at whatever was on the screen. Her exclamation drew not only May’s attention, but also that of the rest of the agents in the room, including Coulson, Trip, Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter, as well as a couple others.

“Guys,” Skye nearly shrieked, flapping one hand in Trip’s direction. “FitzSimmons are making out! In the hallway! _Right now_!”

For half a second, May thought she would finally be relieved of all the ludicrous sneaking around, and almost sagged into a chair at the thought of everyone being allowed to admit at last that they all knew the scientists’ “big secret.”

Then the rest of the room erupted in shocked exclamations and whistles, and Hunter nearly leapt over one of the counters so he could see the screen that much faster. 

“Seriously??”

“I thought they were just friends!” 

“C’mon man, you’ve seen the way she looks at him –” 

“D’you think they’ve shagged? OW!” Hunter scooted away from where at least two of the others had whacked or pinched him. “What?!” 

“I can _not_ believe it,” Skye said gleefully, practically bouncing in her chair. “How long d’you think they’ve been together?”

“Since they met,” Mack deadpanned, and Skye groaned. 

“That’s not what I meant!” 

Watching the agents gossip excitedly, May narrowed her eyes. Surely, at least Coulson had guessed....

But when she turned to where he’d been filling the base’s resident Grumpy Cat mug with hot chocolate mix, she was dismayed to see an expression of transparent surprise on his face.

Letting out an incredulous huff, May strode to one of the mess hall doors, tea mug clutched firmly in one hand, and she wondered drily how SHIELD ever got anything done. If they hadn’t noticed the two scientists’ ill-conceived attempts at secrecy, they were very possibly the worst spies in the world. 

As she stalked past FitzSimmons in the hallway, ignoring the way they jumped apart at the sound of her footsteps and scrambled to make up some kind of excuse or stand, she gave her head a wry shake. At least they’d been fooling someone.


End file.
